


Shades of Grey

by SpoonyLupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Werewolf Senses, Werewolf Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoonyLupin/pseuds/SpoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he lays dying, Fenrir Greyback dreams of his childhood, about what could have been, and what ultimately brought him to this point - to become the most savage werewolf that's ever lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

As soon as he saw the body fall from the balcony, Fenrir Greyback launched himself across the entrance hall on all fours, sinking his teeth into the soft and warm flesh. Lavender Brown weakly struggled underneath him, causing the blood to pulse in her throat, which made her taste even sweeter.

He always had preferred girls and women to the taste of men. Perhaps it had to do with his hatred for his own mother. Every time he devoured a female, he pretended it was his own mother, paying for everything she had ever done to him and his father…

All too soon, his ecstasy with his new victim was over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Granger girl aiming her wand at him. Before he could react, her curse echoed throughout the hall and sent Greyback flying into the banister of the grand staircase. Pain exploded in his back where it had met the marble, his arms and legs flailing, trying desperately to right himself again.

Just as his feet found the ground, however, something very hard and heavy connected with his head. Another burst of pain erupted there, and before he realized what was happening, the hall around him turned fuzzy and then finally went black completely.

~~~~~~~~~~

_Fifty years previously…_

“Who the hell wants to go to Hogwarts?” ten year old Fenrir Greyback mumbled, picking at the runny scrambled eggs his mother had set before him. He had his chin resting in his other hand, glaring down at his food.

“Fenrir, please,” Evanna Greyback said, sitting down at the table across from him in their small kitchen. She rubbed her hands on her apron, wiping away the water that clung to them from doing the dishes. Straightening up, she then ran her hands through dirty blond hair, before leaning across the table and looking closely at her son. “I loved it there…”

“I don’t understand why I can’t go to dad’s school,” Fenrir muttered, not bothering to lift his eyes from his less-than-appetizing breakfast.

Evanna’s eyes flashed at the mention of her former husband. “Sweetheart, you’re a wizard…”

“We don’t know for sure. Maybe I won’t even get my letter.”

“Don’t be silly, you take after me! Of course you’ll get your letter.”

“I don’t care, even if I do!” Fenrir yelled, slamming his fork down on the table. Small globs of scrambled eggs flew off the tines, leaving a trail of mushy yellow on the wooden table. He finally looked up at his mother, his eyes ablaze with anger; he was sick of this conversation, and he was sick of his mother not listening to him. “I know you don’t, but I love Dad, okay? I’d be proud to go where he went!”

“But not proud to go to my school?” Evanna asked accusingly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest.

“You’re the reason I can’t see Dad at all,” Fenrir snapped. “Why would I feel proud about going to your school?”

“I’m only trying to protect you,” Evanna said urgently, resting the palms of her hands flat on the table. “I know you don’t understand it now, but you will someday.”

“No, I won’t.” Fenrir pushed his chair away from the table in an effort to put some distance between him and his mother. “Besides, there’s nothing protect me from. Just because Dad’s a werewolf doesn’t mean he’s dangerous. Is that what the stupid teachers at Hogwarts tell you? That werewolves are dangerous? So why would I want to go there, just to hear them badmouth people like Dad some more? I get enough of that from you.”

“It’s just the way it is,” Evanna sighed.

“No, it’s not. It‘s the way you want it to be,” Fenrir disagreed. “You know, I don’t even understand why you had me to begin with.” He glared at his mother and added, “He was okay to have sex with, but he’s not okay to be a father to me?”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Evanna pressed her lips together into a thin line, fiddling with the silverware beside her plate. “You may be excused,” she said curtly.

Fenrir wasted no time in getting up from his chair. “I’ve lost my appetite anyway,” he snapped, darting through the kitchen, the hallway, and finally to his bedroom beyond. He purposely slammed his door before dropping down onto this bed, crossing his arms over his chest, and glaring darkly at the wall.

According to his mother, children were ecstatic about the possibility of going to Hogwarts. Perhaps he was crazy, but Fenrir didn’t really didn’t care to further his magical ability. The only witch he knew was his mother, and the last thing he wanted was to be like her - prejudiced and proud. Was that what going to Hogwarts did to people? Or maybe she had been like that before school. Either way, he didn’t think he’d like Hogwarts very much, not if it was full of people like her.

The more Fenrir thought about it, however, maybe he should consider going to Hogwarts, just to get away from her. He’d never have to see her again, except for holidays, and as soon as he graduated, he’d be of age. Indeed, Hogwarts was sounding better and better, just for the respite it would provide from his mother.

However, when Fenrir’s thoughts turned to his father once more, he ultimately decided that Hogwarts was completely out of the question. His father was a Muggle! How could he ever hope for his father to visit him there? Months at a time were much too long without him.

Evanna would kill them both if she knew, but Tobin, Fenrir’s father, had been secretly visiting him for the last five years. Evanna forbid contact between them, insisting that Tobin’s lycanthropy made him a danger to be around. Thinking about it made Fenrir even angrier; there was absolutely nothing dangerous about his father!

Even the stupid Ministry agreed with her, stripping Tobin of his parenting rights on Evanna’s orders. That made her the dangerous one, in Fenrir’s opinion, and she didn’t even realize it.

That’s what kept Fenrir going, day after day - the thought of another visit from his father. It’d been fourteen days since the last one (Fenrir kept careful count), so Tobin was due to be dropping by again soon, especially with the full moon in another three days. Tobin always liked to visit Fenrir in the days before, insisting that it made the transformations easier. _Maybe today_ , Fenrir thought hopefully, glancing at the window where his father liked to pop up.

Just then, a soft knock at his door caused Fenrir to jump. His heart began to beat faster, still thrilled with the idea of seeing his father again, but he quickly realized that Tobin wasn’t about to walk in the house.

“What?” Fenrir asked miserably.

His mother pushed the door open and stuck her head in. “Fenrir…I’m sorry about before…”

“No, you’re not,” Fenrir replied, flopping onto his back on his bed. Scenes like the one in the kitchen happened nearly everyday; if she was really sorry, she’d make an effort to listen to what he wanted, which was his father. Fenrir didn’t know why it was so hard for her to understand.

Evanna sighed, grasping the edge of the door tightly in one hand. “Just think about going to Hogwarts. Please?”

Fenrir shrugged. “Okay.” Technically, his mind was already made up, but he _had_ thought about it, so he wasn’t really lying.

His mother smiled slightly. “Good. I’m going down to the market for a bit. Please clean your room before I get back.”

“Okay,” Fenrir repeated, not having any intention of doing what she asked; she never did what he asked, so why should he reciprocate?

“I’ll bring you back something special, then,” Evanna said cheerfully, blowing him a kiss before disappearing and closing the door behind her.

Fenrir rolled over into his side. That was his mother’s solution to everything - buy him something. She was trying to make up for all the disagreements, but they didn’t make up for him not having his father in his life.

His eyes went to his window hopefully, silently praying for his father. He watched the bright morning sun cross the square of glass until it was finally out of sight. Fenrir sighed, trying not to think about how much time had passed, how long his mother had been gone, or how much closer she was to returning.

“Come on, Dad,” Fenrir whispered to the room. He continued to keep his eyes on the window, but his eyelids began to droop. Sleep eventually consumed him, and he welcomed his dreams, his father turning up in every single one of them.

Fenrir awoke to a soft tapping noise, jarring him out of sleep so suddenly, that he wasn’t quite sure if he was still dreaming or not. It was darker in his room now, the sun on the side of the room with no windows and failing to provide very much light.

Rubbing at his eyes, Fenrir rolled over onto his back, looking around the room for the possible source of the sound. Just then, he heard the tapping noise again. Fenrir looked to his right and there he was at the window - his dad.

“Dad!” Fenrir cried in excitement, forgetting to keep his voice low in case his mother was back. He sat up like a bolt, threw himself off the bed, and launched himself at the window, not wasting any time in tugging it open.

“Fenrir!” Tobin said, reaching in through the now open window to throw his arms around his son. When he pulled away, his longish light brown hair fell in his eyes, and he swept it back quickly. “Is your mum here?”

“I…I don’t know,” Fenrir said, glancing back at the door to his room. “She went to the market earlier, but…hold on, I’ll check.”

He scrambled back across the room and opened his door a crack, peering out into the hallway and the kitchen beyond. It appeared empty, and Fenrir checked the spot on the counter where his mother always kept her money pouch. She was very organized and always put it back as soon as she returned to the house. It wasn’t there.

“She’s still gone,” Fenrir said, closing his door again and turning back to the window. “I was hoping you’d come today.”

“You hope I come everyday,” Tobin said knowingly, leaning against the window frame casually. His kind, bright green eyes shone particularly bright in the dim room.

“You _should_ come everyday.”

“You know I would if I could,” Tobin said. “I’m not supposed to see you at all. We have to be careful if we want this to go on.”

Fenrir sighed. “I know…” He broke off. A part of him didn’t feel comfortable talking to his father here - one of them on each side of the window. It felt like the wall of the house was only serving as a further barrier between them, and he hated that feeling.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Fenrir said, hoisting himself up onto his windowsill.

“What if your mum comes back while we’re gone?” Tobin asked, cautiously looking past Fenrir into the bedroom beyond. His eyes went to the bedroom door, listening for any noises.

“Then I’ll tell her I went for a walk,” Fenrir said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. He shifted his legs over to the other side of the window. “I am allowed to, and she doesn’t have to know I was with you.”

A small smirk crossed his father’s lips, and he moved aside, allowing Fenrir to lower his feet towards the ground. When the ten year old released his hold on the edges of the window, he dropped to the grass below with a soft plop.

Fenrir and his mother lived in a sleepy village in northern England. Their cottage was largely secluded from neighbors and the main lane by thick trees - not that those things were really close enough to see anyway. Fenrir supposed that Evanna felt more protected in such a quiet place - away from his father and other prying eyes.

A narrow dirt path led from the rear of the cottage, twisting and turning through the woods beyond. Fenrir led his father through the trees, Tobin falling into step beside him. As soon as they got deep enough into the forest, out of sight from the house, the rushing of the nearby stream reached their ears. Fenrir loved sitting by the water, particularly when he had a lot to think about; the sound of the stream was soothing to him.

Crossing the clearing, Fenrir took his usual seat beside the stream, folding his legs under him. A moment later, his father joined him, stretching out his long legs until his shoes came precariously close to reaching the edge of the water.

Fenrir watched beams of light escape through the thick canopy of trees overhead, playing off the surface of the water and picking out small fish lazily swimming by.

“Dad,” Fenrir said, picking at a few blades of grass near one of his feet, “Mum’s been talking about sending me to Hogwarts.”

A momentary flash of fear shone in Tobin’s eyes. “Is that the place…the school that Muggles can’t see?”

Fenrir nodded. “Yeah. I already told her I didn’t want to go.”

“Fenrir…” Tobin began, but then stopped, letting out a long and heavy sigh. He leaned his head back and looked up through the trees at the late morning sky, as if it might hold some answers for him. “I don’t want you to not go because of me,” he finally said, looking back at his son. “If we have to go even longer without seeing each other…”

“It’s not that,” Fenrir interrupted. “I just…don’t want to go. Not if that place is full of a bunch of wizards that hate werewolves and stuff.”

A small smiled crossed Tobin’s lips. “Maybe you should go then.”

“What?”

“Set them straight,” Tobin said, giving his son a proud look. “Teach them what werewolves are really about.”

“But I’m not a teacher or anything,” Fenrir said. “They’re not going to listen to me. They’ll just think I’m some stupid first year.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Mum thinks I am.”

“Fenrir…”

“She does!” Fenrir interrupted, knowing full well what his father had been about to say. Fenrir found it funny. Evanna never missed an opportunity to badmouth Tobin, but on the other hand, Tobin still never liked to say anything bad about anyone, even about people who hated werewolves.

“She keeps telling me about how you’re dangerous,” Fenrir went on, “and how I’ll understand when I’m _older_ , like I‘m stupid now and don‘t get it. But I do. She just hates you, because of what you are. But you’re not dangerous, and I’ll never see you as dangerous, no matter how old I am.”

His father smiled slightly, reaching out an arm and wrapping it around Fenrir’s shoulders. “You know, Fenrir,” Tobin said quietly, pulling away and looking out over the stream, “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

Tobin sighed, turning to look at his son closely. “About a way for us to be together…your mother wouldn’t be able to keep us apart anymore.”

Fenrir’s eyes brightened and widened in curiosity. He shifted in his place, pushing himself up higher until he was closer to his father’s eye level. “How?”

Tobin paused, running his teeth over his bottom lip nervously. “She wouldn’t be able to…if we were the same.”

“You mean…if I was a werewolf too?”

Shrugging, Tobin looked out over the stream again, suddenly not able to meet his son’s gaze any longer. “It’s just a thought…She’d have nothing to ‘protect’ you from then.”

A laugh escaped Fenrir, something Tobin hadn’t been expecting at all. “It would serve her right - then she’d be the one that’s different.”

Tobin didn’t reply, but he watched Fenrir thoughtfully for nearly a minute. The only sounds in the small clearing were those of the rushing stream, and the fluttering and twittering of the birds in the trees.

Something occurred to Fenrir just then, and his eyes widened once more. “You’re really serious!”

A blush crept up in Tobin’s cheeks and he seemed to sense this, quickly running his hand through his hair in order to hide it. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “I don’t _want_ you to be werewolf, but…”

“We could be together more,” Fenrir supplied. He frowned deeply, the glint of sunlight off the water catching his eye. He swallowed audibly. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yes,” Tobin said. “But so does not seeing you.”

“I know,” Fenrir whispered. He had changed positions again, pulling his knees up against his chest now and wrapping an arm around them. “Would you do it?”

“Yes.”

Fenrir rested his chin on his knees, watching a small group of butterflies chase each other on the far side of the stream. A part of Fenrir still didn’t even think his father was serious - they were just playing, weren’t they? Musing about just one of the ways things might be easier for them. Fenrir didn’t think it was as easy as that anyway; his mother would find a reason to keep him away from his father regardless.

“This full moon?” Fenrir asked.

“FENRIR!”

Fenrir turned back towards the house, his mother’s voice drifting to them through the trees.

“Damn,” Fenrir muttered. “I have to go.” He started getting up from the ground, but his father’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I love you.”

Fenrir smiled. “I love you too, Dad.” He paused for a moment before wrapping his arms around his father’s neck and hugging him tightly.

Without another word, Fenrir made his way back to the cottage, leaving Tobin sitting next to the stream alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Fenrir’s last conversation with his father was nothing more than a fleeting memory, lost in the flurry of things that ten year olds think about.

Evanna was pleasant to him since their last argument in the kitchen. Fenrir wondered why, but he supposed she was just letting him “think” about going to Hogwarts. If so, telling her he _would_ think about it had been worth it.

As the sun dipped down toward the horizon that evening, Fenrir shared a somewhat enjoyable meal with his mother. They shared menial small talk about their days, and not once did Evanna bring up Hogwarts or his father, for which Fenrir was grateful.

That, however, didn’t last.

When his mother took their dinner plates to the sink, she returned with a plate of vanilla ice cream covered in raspberries and bright red juice - one of his favorite desserts. No sooner had she set it down in front of him that Fenrir picked up his spoon and began to eat.

Evanna sat down across from him, eyeing him carefully for several seconds. “Have you given any thought to Hogwarts?” she finally asked.

Fenrir stopped in mid-chew, looking up at her. “Yeah,” he said casually, before going back to his dessert.

“And?”

Fenrir took his time, chewing the raspberries in his mouth slowly. He watched the ice cream on his plate melting, turning the bright red raspberry juice into a pink liquid. He finally swallowed, still not taking his eyes off his plate. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

Evanna didn’t respond at first. She watched him for nearly a minute before leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “I see.”

“Yep,” Fenrir muttered, taking another bite of his dessert.

“Be honest with me,” Evanna said. “You didn’t really even think about it at all, did you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Fenrir said firmly. “And I don’t want to go. End of story.”

After a brief pause, Evanna said, “Fenrir, it’s the best wizarding school in the world, and I know you have the talent. Don’t you want to further your magical ability?”

“Not really.” Above all else, Fenrir loved and wanted to be like his father. If his father wasn’t a wizard, then he didn’t have to be one either.

Evanna seemed to sense this. “Does this have anything to do with your father?”

Fenrir opened his mouth, but he felt slightly guilty at how much of a lie “no” would be. There were many different reasons why he didn’t want to go to Hogwarts, but when it came right down to it, his father was at the bottom of every one of them in one way or another.

“I see that it does.”

“Mum,” Fenrir sighed, “it’s not about that. Not in the way you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Evanna asked, her tone accusing, although Fenrir wasn’t quite sure why.

“No,” Fenrir said, shaking his head.

Neither of them said anything for a very long time, so Fenrir worked on finishing his dessert, scooping the last of his melted, now pink ice cream from his plate. When he licked his lips clean, he started to get up from his chair, but his mother held up a hand to stop him.

“Just a minute,” she said, and Fenrir dropped back down into to his chair.

He really didn’t like the way she was looking at him; it made his insides crawl uncomfortably. He swallowed, the taste of vanilla and raspberries still fresh on his tongue.

“I know you’ve been seeing him,” Evanna said.

Fenrir blinked. He had a vague idea, but he still wasn’t _entirely_ sure who she meant. “Who?” he asked, sounding as innocent as possible.

“Your father.”

Fenrir frowned, looking as surprised as he could. “I don’t…”

“I know you have.”

“Mum…”

Evanna fumbled around in one of her pockets. “He must have dropped this the last time he was here,” she said, withdrawing an object and placing it on the table in front of her son. “I found it outside your bedroom window when I was tending to the flowerbeds yesterday.”

It was his father’s pocket watch - a present from Evanna on their wedding day. It was old and dirty, but parts of the gold casing still shone in pale kitchen lamplight. A large letter _T_ was engraved on the front.

Fenrir would recognize it anywhere. He remembered when he was very little, perhaps three years old, before things had fallen apart between his parents. Fenrir would lie in bed at night while his father told him bedtime stories. Whenever his father finished a story, Tobin would always take out his pocket watch, showing Fenrir how many hours until the next day when they’d see each other again.

Fenrir stared down at the watch in silence.

Evanna got up from her chair, picking up his empty dessert plate and pretending like everything was normal. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times,” she said on her way to the sink. “I don’t want you around him. He’s dangerous.”

“HE’S NOT DANGEROUS!” Fenrir roared, getting up from his chair so forcefully that it almost tipped over.

Not even seeming to notice that he had just screamed at her, Evanna kept her back to him, rearranging the plates in the sink. “Well, It just so happens that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures agrees with me,” she said quietly, most likely so he wouldn’t start yelling again. “And in case you’ve forgotten,” she said, finally turning to face him, “he was ordered by the Ministry to not see you anymore. They’re looking for him right now.”

Fenrir drew in a shaky breath. “Looking?”

His mother nodded once. “They’re under strict orders to transport him to a werewolf colony as soon as they find him.”

His chest heaving, Fenrir’s hands drew up into fists at his sides. “But…he hasn’t _done_ anything!”

“He violated the Ministry’s orders.”

Fenrir’s bottom lip quivered and he silently cursed himself; he would _not_ cry in front of his mother, especially not now. He shook his head, trying his best to hold back his emotions. “ _I hate you_ ,” he snarled.

“I told you, I’m only trying protect…!”

“SHUT UP!” Fenrir screamed, his fists beginning to shake in rage. “All I ever wanted to do was see my father! Why can’t you understand that?! Why can’t you understand that I love him, despite what he is? And he’s never hurt me, not once.” Against Fenrir’s best efforts to the contrary, tears had welled up in his eyes and had begun to leak down his cheeks. He batted them away in frustration.

Evanna’s eyes actually looked sorry for a moment, but that was quickly replaced by their usual hardness. “Fenrir…”

“Just shut up,” Fenrir whispered. “I don’t care what you have to say anymore. I just…hate you.”

Without another word, Fenrir turned on his heel, trying his best to keep his stride as steady as possible. When he crossed the threshold into his room, he slammed the door and leaned back against it, his tears flowing freely now.

He lowered his head, his tears dripping down into his shirt. It was then that he noticed a bright red stain on the bottom hem of the cotton. He must have dripped some raspberry juice on it during dessert. _It looks like blood_ , he thought absently, that meal now feeling like a million years ago.

When his tears finally slowed, Fenrir took a moment to wipe at his eyes. He looked to his window where his father always appeared. The window comforted him somehow, even though Fenrir knew he wouldn’t be seeing his father tonight - not on a full moon.

Suddenly, his father’s words came back to him, “Your mother wouldn’t be able to keep us apart anymore…She wouldn’t be able to…if we were the same.”

Fenrir’s eyes widened, and he approached the window, trying to locate the full moon high in the sky. It was just visible, the dying sunlight still providing enough light to keep it from standing out.

Glancing back to his door, Fenrir made a split second decision and threw his window open. He crawled up onto the windowsill just as he had three days before, and lowered himself to the ground outside.

The orange ball of sun had almost completely disappeared over the horizon, but Fenrir could still see just enough to pick out the path that led into the woods. He quickly followed it to the stream, knowing that if his father was in the area at all, it would be there.

The early summer air had a light chill to it, but it felt nice against Fenrir’s skin, seeming to carry some of his anger away with it. As soon as he entered the dense growth of trees, however, the thick canopy of leaves blocked any remaining sunlight, plunging him into complete darkness. The chill in the air rose and he shivered, wishing he had brought his jumper with him.

When he reached the clearing, the sound of the water rushing in his ears, he looked around. He was hoping to see any sign of movement, something that would signify the presence of his father, but everything was deathly still.

Fenrir approached the stream, sitting down in the exact spot where he had talked to his father just three days before. The grass was slightly damp from the day’s humidity, little droplets of water soaking into his trousers.

He waited, not knowing how much time had passed, but noticing that the moon had traveled quite a distance in the sky. Sighing heavily, Fenrir gently lowered himself to the ground, the dampness sending another shiver down his spine. He curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, part of him wishing that the entire world would go away, and the other part of him wishing his father would come and take him away.

The rippling of the stream and the soft chirp of crickets were the last things he heard as sleep overtook him.

A sharp jolt of pain in his right side jarred him awake. At first, Fenrir’s mind was still consumed by sleep and he wasn’t sure what was happening. All he registered were the pain and the growing wetness around what he realized was his wound. Fenrir struggled against his attacker, but then his hands found coarse fur.

Fenrir curled his fingers into the animal’s coat, and he could just pick out the green eyes above him in the blackness. He’d never encountered his father in wolf form before, but he didn’t have to. A smile formed on Fenrir’s lips.

“Dad,” he moaned, before the darkness and pain grew to engulf him entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Fenrir woke up, it was still dark. The pain in his side had subdued to a dull ache, however, and his clothes didn’t feel soaked with blood anymore.

He swallowed, flinching at the pain in his parched throat. He reached his left arm across his body, passing his fingers along his right side, and he felt gauzy material in their wake. A small bolt of pain suddenly rushed along his side, slowly spreading to the rest of his body, and he decided to not poke his bite anymore.

Fenrir wiggled his tongue around in his mouth, attempting to produce some saliva for his overly dry throat. After nearly a minute, he finally looked around the room, realizing he was back in his own bed. In fact, he might have thought that the entire thing had been a dream, if not for the ache in his side.

His head pounded, and he reached his left hand up, rubbing it across his forehead. That was when he realized that there were voices out in the kitchen, and he could _almost_ hear them clearly through his shut door.

One of the voices belonged to his mother, and the other…it was a man. Fenrir’s heart jumped in excitement until it became pretty clear that that man wasn’t his father.

“…It’s the best thing, believe me.”

“I don’t know,” his mother’s shaky voice replied, and then she added something Fenrir couldn‘t quite hear.

“Let them think…killed.”

Fenrir’s pain was suddenly forgotten, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position. When that didn’t serve to make the voices any clearer, he carefully pushed the blankets aside and lowered his feet to the floor. His bite flared in agony at the movement, and he gently pressed his left hand against it, hoping to ease the throb. Drawing in a sharp breath, he pushed himself up from his bed and ambled across the wooden floor of his room, flinching as he went.

The ten year old carefully turned his doorknob just enough until the door opened a crack. Out in the kitchen, Fenrir could see his mother seated at the table, several handkerchiefs taking up the place in front of her. Her blond hair was severely mussed, and her eyes were red-rimmed and watery.

Fenrir couldn’t see anyone else, so he took a small step into the doorway, emerging out into the hall. He leaned forward, ignoring his throbbing bite, until the man in the kitchen came into view.

The man was young and tall, much taller than his father, with black hair loosely combed back. He was standing on the other side of the table, his hands resting gently on the back of a chair.

“You’re not seriously suggesting I…” Evanna broke off, consumed by a sob.

“You convince yourself of the same,” the young man replied, nodding. “Tell yourself he was killed in the attack, because to be quite honest, that would have been a much better fate.”

“But he wasn’t killed!” Evanna snapped, her eyes darting to glare daggers at the man.

“He might as well have been,” the man said. “What kind of respectable school will even look at him now? And trying to get a job is hard enough, but if a _school_ wouldn’t even want him…no kind of business will see him as fit to lick the mud off their boots.”

“Stop it!”

“Mrs. Greyback…”

“Barkley,” Evanna corrected. “Greyback is my ex-husband…the monster who did this to my son.”

Fenrir’s heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest. If his father was a monster (and he always had been in Evanna’s eyes), then Fenrir knew he was as well. That much wasn’t _un_ expected, but it still hurt to hear.

“So you know his attacker.”

“Of course I do!” Evanna cried, her voice slightly muffled by the handkerchief she was using to rub at her eyes. All of a sudden, however, she began laughing cruelly, almost crazily. “I’m sure my ex-husband is feeling pretty proud of himself right now…Getting back at me for everything I‘ve ever done to him, because he‘s the victim in all of this!” she yelled sarcastically.

“Have you reported him to the proper authorities?” the man asked. “They don’t allow monsters like that to run around, not when they‘ve infected or killed someone.”

“Yes, I‘ve reported him!” Evanna exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “It was the _first_ thing I did.”

 _Before contacting a healer for me?_ Fenrir wondered, but then his thoughts turned to his father. Fenrir wondered how much time had passed since his bite and where Tobin could possibly be now. Had the Ministry picked him up already? He bit his lip in thought. He hadn’t really considered how he was going to go about contacting his father afterwards.

“Good,” the man went on. “Hopefully the Ministry will pick him up before he turns anymore innocent children.”

“What…what would happen to him?” Evanna asked shakily, voicing the question Fenrir was dying to know the answer to.

“If he’s lucky, they’ll sentence him to a quick execution.”

Fenrir fastened his teeth over his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He bit down hard enough to draw blood and…funnily enough, his blood didn’t taste coppery and salty to him like it normally did. It tasted sweet, almost like a dribble of icing from a breakfast pastry had missed his mouth. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought, because the blood on his tongue most certainly wasn’t icing!

“And if he’s not lucky?” Evanna asked.

“He’ll spend the rest of his life in a colony.”

Fenrir leaned against the doorway to his room, licking at the still slightly bloody spot on his bottom lip, wondering how on earth he would go about finding his father. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice that he had inadvertently pushed his door open a bit more, causing it to squeak loudly on its hinges.

Evanna and the man turned to look at him, apparently startled by the noise.

“Oh, Fenrir!” his mother gasped loudly, getting up from her chair. She wrapped his arms tightly around him, and he made a face, partially from disgust at her, and partly because she was pressing up against his bite.

“OW! Mum!” Fenrir snapped, pushing her away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Evanna apologized, using her hands to smooth at his messy hair instead. “I’m so sorry.” She let out a sob, wiping at her damp cheeks. “Come sit down, okay?” She directed him toward the kitchen table, pointing to the other man. “This is Healer McMurphy, and…we have something to talk to you about.”

Fenrir stopped, looking back and forth between them. “You’re going to tell me that I’m a werewolf,” he stated.

Evanna let out another cry, looking horrified. The healer looked confused. Fenrir smirked.

~~~~~~~~~~

The days passed quietly as Fenrir healed from his “attack.” He spent most of his days in bed, his mother catering to his every need. Truthfully, he had stopped hurting a few days before, but he didn’t let his mother know that; he was rather enjoying the special treatment.

Evanna was unusually silent, only speaking to him to ask how he was feeling or if he wanted anything. Fenrir didn’t necessarily mind the change in her demeanor, but it made him distinctly uncomfortable, putting him on edge.

One afternoon, Fenrir had just finished his lunch in bed when his mother came to retrieve his empty plates. However, she settled herself on his mattress instead, watching him.

“What?” he asked, leaning back against the pillows piled against his headboard.

“Fenrir…” Evanna began, “I’ve been thinking…” She paused, reaching out a hand, most likely to hold one of his, but then she thought better of it. She placed her hand on the blanket, patting it absentmindedly. “The Ministry… they picked up your father.”

Fenrir swallowed. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know anything more.

“They decided,” she continued, “that he’ll be spending the rest of his life in a…werewolf colony.”

Fenrir drew a shallow and shaky breath. On the one hand, he was relieved that his father hadn’t been sentenced to death. On the other…Tobin had told him enough about werewolf colonies, and Fenrir didn’t wish that on _anybody_ , much less his father whom he loved.

“And I’ve been thinking,” Evanna went on, “that if you really want to be with him as badly as you say…”

“You’re going to send me there, too?” Fenrir asked in confusion. He wasn’t sure what to think. Of course, he’d love to live with his father, but in a _colony_? And why was his mother offering this to him? Fenrir knew what his mother obviously thought of him now, but he still never imagined her to just send him off to be with his father.

Evanna opened and closed her mouth several times. “Only…if you want to. Maybe…it’ll be best for you…to be around your _own kind_.”

Fenrir rolled his eyes. “My kind. Right.”

“Just think about it,” Evanna said, making a show of fixing his blankets and tidying up his lunch dishes.

It didn’t take Fenrir long to make up his mind. If his father was doomed to spend the rest of his life in a werewolf colony, then Fenrir could too. Besides, it wouldn’t be so bad just as long as they were together.

~~~~~~~~~~

Silver Moon Werewolf Colony was a desolate place indeed. The entire desert-like compound was surrounded by a very long chain-link fence. On the other side of the fence were many, small run-down buildings. There was no one moving around inside the fence that Fenrir could see; the only movement came from the sparse patches of grass that blew lazily in the wind.

Evanna led him to a door that had been built into the fence. It had a crooked and splintering sign tacked to it with the name of colony in cracked and peeling red paint.

A small, skinny shack stood next to the door, just inside the fence. As they approached, a heavyset man with dark, thinning hair and a moustache emerged.

“Can I help you with something?” the man barked at them, instantly sounding bothered.

“Are you Mr. Grandville?” Evanna asked.

“Yeah,” the man said, running his eyes over them, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m Evanna Barkley,” Fenrir’s mother introduced herself. “This is my son, Fenrir. I spoke to you earlier…we made arrangements.”

Grandville’s fat lips twisted into an unpleasant smile. “Ah, of course.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a gold ring with several keys on it. He slowly sorted through them, singling one out and using it to unlock the padlock on the door in the fence. It squeaked open loudly.

“Would you like to come in with him?” Grandville asked. “Help him get settled?”

Evanna eyed the entire compound wearily. “I don’t think that’s necessary. We said our goodbyes already.”

Their “goodbyes” had barely consisted of a dozen words, but Fenrir wasn’t about to argue. He was just anxious to see his father.

Evanna placed her hands on her son’s shoulders. “Just be good, okay? I’ll see you at Christmas.”

Fenrir nodded, quickly turning away from her and stepping through the door into the colony. Excitement stirred up inside of him; he was one step closer to seeing his father - or so he thought.

Grandville slammed the gate closed with a loud clang, quickly replacing the padlock, as if afraid that someone might escape. He grabbed Fenrir’s suitcase from the boy’s hand and then thrust his hand against Fenrir’s back. “Move. Over there,” Grandville he instructed, pointing to one of the small shacks quite a distance from the fence.

Fenrir started walking, his eyes wandering over the many buildings, wondering which one his father could possibly be in. He even let himself imagine that his father would emerge from one, running over to welcome him.

They passed about ten buildings before Grandville finally stopped him, grabbing onto Fenrir’s arm roughly. “Here,” Grandville said, pushing him towards a shack with a sign that read: _Bunk #M03-05_.

Grandville set Fenrir’s suitcase on the dusty ground, reaching into his robes and withdrawing his key ring again. As he was looking through them for the proper key to unlock this building, Fenrir decided to ask his question.

“Er…sir?”

“What?” Grandville asked, sounding irritated.

“Are there separate bunks for the Muggles?”

One of Grandville’s eyebrows went up, and he turned to look at Fenrir. “ _Muggles_?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Muggles_?!” Grandville repeated. “In the Silver Moon?” He laughed loudly.

Fenrir didn’t see what was so funny.

“You’re all filth,” Grandville said, “but you really don’t think that _Muggles_ would be kept in any sort of Ministry establishment with _wizards_ , do you?”

Fear exploded in Fenrir’s stomach. He opened his mouth, but he wasn’t sure what he had intended to say. He looked back towards the entrance, but his mother was long gone.

Fenrir suddenly realized that his mother’s intention was never for him to see his father; it was only to get rid of him. She probably didn’t even know where Tobin was, nor did she care…and Fenrir knew she didn‘t care about him, either.

Fenrir Greyback never saw his father again…or his mother for that matter.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Greyback regained consciousness, the entire entrance hall of Hogwarts was still engulfed in a raging battle. His head throbbed in the spot where he had been hit, but he tried to shake it off, eyeing the battle before him closely.

Greyback quickly righted himself, getting his feet underneath him. The most radiant thing in the entire hall, he noticed, seemed to be the bright red hair of a Weasley not far from him. He wasn’t sure which Weasley it was, nor did it matter. The ginger hair was like blood to him, standing before him like a meal waiting to be devoured.

Rushing across the hall, Greyback’s tongue wet his lips in anticipation of what was to come, his teeth almost feeling the supple flesh breaking apart under them. However, before he reached his target, a sharp pain exploded in his back and he roared in discomfort.

The sound caused Weasley to turn around, and Greyback saw - it was the boy who was always hanging around Potter. Before Greyback could react, Weasley fired off a spell which caught him square in the chest.

Another bolt of agony ripped through his body, this one comparable to when his father had turned him. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he couldn’t draw another breath, darkness beginning to dot his vision. The entire entrance hall swayed, and he fruitlessly reached out for something to steady himself on.

 _I’m dying_ , Greyback realized, but he didn’t care. In fact, he welcomed death. He knew his father had been dead for quite some time, a victim of the mistreatment in the werewolf colony he had been imprisoned in. That meant that Greyback was finally going to see his father again after fifty years of nearly unbearable separation.

“Dad,” Greyback sighed, the ground rushing up to meet him and blackness overtaking him for the last time.

_The end_


End file.
